by Cara Dee
At some point, there was more commotion above them. The guys exchanged glances, and at least Gray could count on Cole for sharing similar thoughts. The buyers had arrived. Midnight had been mentioned, hadn’t it? Maybe that was the time they were set to arrive.
Faint sounds of laughter traveled below to their cabin. For shithead slave owners, this was a joyous occasion. It made Gray sick.
Only moments later, the yacht was moving again.
“There’s no one on the dock.” Jackie’s eyes shone with panic. “Do we scream anyway?”
What was the point?
Gray swallowed hard. Every rumble of the engine, every little turn out of the marina…every yard farther away from land was a stitch in sealing their fate.
It was another couple of hours before the door opened and Red appeared with two goons, one of them the guard with a scar. She snapped her fingers and pointed at Charlie.
“Him first.”
For reasons unknown to Gray, that was when he lost it. As Charlie began begging to be saved and swearing he’d do anything to go home, the fury in Gray was unleashed.
He turned his first glower at Red. “You fucking bitch, didn’t your parents teach you to pick on kids your own size?”
“Please don’t hurt me!” Charlie sobbed as a guard worked to unlock his restraints. “Please, please, please—nooo!”
“Hey! You steroid-pumped needle dick,” Gray snapped at Scarface. “You’ve been dying to have a go with me. Come at me, motherfucker.”
Red tittered a laugh, her voice too deep. “Don’t fall for this, Benny.”
Scarface—or Benny—was easily goaded, and he faced Gray with a dark grin that tugged at his scar. “You talk a lot, kid.”
“I understand if the words are too difficult for you,” Gray replied. “That’s what happens when family members procreate.” The mouth that had given him a lot of action on the ice in his years as a hockey player was about to give him a world of pain, but in this moment, he couldn’t find it in him to care. Right this second, he had nothing to lose. “Is Daddy also Gramps?”
Cole piped in with a taunting chuckle and smirked at Benny. “Is that it, dumbass? Are you one of those inbred sumbitches?”
Benny had already zeroed in on Gray, and as Red demanded her goon to stand his ground, he flew forward. Gray tensed up, and the last he heard was a cacophony of shouting and chains rustling. Then he inched back only to push forward and ram his forehead against Benny’s nose. The force was enough to send the guard flying back, and Cole was quick to kick Benny in the ribs. Jackie followed, then another kid, and Gray drew in a deep breath through his nose. Adrenaline pumped freely, making it easy to ignore the pain in his head.
“What the hell are you just standing there for, ya fat fuck?” Gray shouted at the other guard. “Don’t tell me they only hire slow mama’s boys around here—”
“That’s enough!” Red’s voice became startlingly shrill when she shrieked. Next, she revealed a thin handle in her hand that ejected and became a cane. A torture device.
Yet, Gray pushed it. Hysteria bubbled up, his pulse skyrocketed, and he spat at her as he struggled fruitlessly against his shackles. “You’re next, you ugly fucking hag. Don’t think for a second I would hesitate to get my hands around your neck and snuff you out like a motherfucking candle.”
The illusion of control and conviction belonged to him and the other boys for about ten seconds. It lifted their spirits and made them mentally stronger. Unfortunately, it made the fall more severe. Because when the cabin flooded with four other guards, everything came crashing down. Red whacked the silver cane squarely across Gray’s face, then three times rapidly along his back as he hunched over. The screaming and cursing were drowned out by henchmen who took pleasure in silencing the guys.
Sharp pain shot through Gray, and blood trickled from his split eyebrow.
Red took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of Gray’s hair. “This is why I lowered your price. Rebellious little fools are worthless.” Her painted claws dug into his jaw. “I think we’ll have to make an example out of you and offer you up as entertainment tonight.” With that said, she pushed him away and stalked out.
Benny was next in line. His nose was broken, if not crushed, and he grabbed Gray’s head before he slammed up his knee. Acting on instinct, Gray managed to tilt his face to save his nose, and the solid kneecap hit his cheek instead.
After that, he was a heap on the floor. More pain surged through him as he landed, effectively dislocating his shoulder because his hands were still fastened tightly to the wall.
His body screamed in protest, and he screwed his eyes shut so he didn’t see when they dragged Charlie out of the cabin.
I’m sorry.
They were saving Gray for last.
With each guy they hauled out of the room, he grew more despondent and withdrawn. He’d managed to get on his feet again, but he could barely move without an explosion of hurt unfurling inside him. So he stood silent, face impassive and smeared with blood, eyes unseeing, as another guy was up.
The worst part was when they screamed wherever they were. Gray guessed a deck or two above him.
Were they getting raped yet?
He knew it was coming.
He stiffened as the door opened once more, and this time, it was Cole’s turn. His features were set; he’d braced himself for whatever was to come. Or so Gray hoped. He couldn’t imagine any of them had a clue what they were in for.
Least of all Gray. Were they gonna kill him? He’d watched enough movies to know what “make an example of someone” usually meant.
Milo was next, and he looked pleadingly at Gray. “Please do something,” he whimpered. “I’ve never—I can’t—please, Gray. P-please!”
Gray clenched his jaw and said nothing, because what the fuck could he do? The door was shut, leaving him alone. He listened. He couldn’t not listen. Compelled and beating himself up, he strained his ears to hear every torturous plea.
It was quiet for some time, and then…then the screaming began. It mingled with muffled sobs and sharp, choking sounds. And low rumbles of laughter. There was even applause. Gray’s stomach revolted and tightened. Nausea crept higher and higher. Milo was being abused, and low-life perverts found that funny.
The world became a dark place for Gray. Hope had dwindled enough that he couldn’t see it anymore. He lost faith in humanity and sent a glance skyward as his eyes welled up. Mom, I love you. Gage, Gideon, Gabriel, Aiden, Isla, the little niece or nephew I never got to meet…I love you, and I’m sorry.
When the door was opened a final time, Gray was resigned. Benny stood there with sinister glee in his eyes, and of course, the brute wanted his fun, too. Gray accepted two fists to his face before he fell back against the wall, pain spreading like wildfire. Memories from better times that had been rolling past slowly gained speed as if he somehow knew time was running out.
Two men had to support Gray’s weight on the way out of the cabin. His head hung, flickers of memories battling against fatigue and hurt. He couldn’t see where they were going, and when they encountered a set of stairs, he stumbled and lurched. He focused on the faces of his family. Mostly, Mom and his three brothers. The recent additions were his stepdad—Aiden—his daughter Isla, and Isla’s fiancé, Jack. Gray loved the expansion of their family. The day he’d learned Isla was pregnant, he’d been so fucking thrilled. Now he’d never get to spoil his niece or nephew.
Something warm trickled down his face. He didn’t know if it was blood or tears. Maybe a combination of both.
Gray was shoved into a large room, and the first glance with blurry vision made it look empty. Then he blinked and noticed there were booths along the far wall. The lighting was poor and focused on the middle, shadows cast everywhere. And he didn’t care anymore. He gave up registering things.
“Your toy, sir,” Benny said gruffly.
Vanya approached from the sidelines with a playful little smile, and the meatheads droppe
d Gray in the middle of the floor. He swallowed hard, his bleary gaze getting stuck on spots of red on the gray carpet. Once he saw a couple splatters, he noticed more. They were all over the center of the floor. Blood, then blotches of darker gray—maybe tears, sweat. Semen. The room reeked of it. A long silk robe came into view, the red fabric dancing around Vanya’s feet. He squatted next to Gray and patted his head.
“There, there.” Vanya’s voice was still angelic and impossibly sweet. “Maybe we’ll get to play more in another life. Mother said you’re a bit of a moron.”
Jesus, he was deranged.
Red sauntered closer, her thin metal cane ready to be used if needed. She didn’t treat Gray as gently. Fisting his hair, she yanked him up on his knees, to which he hissed through clenched teeth.
They faced the darkened booths.
“Dear guests,” Red purred, “I value my customers more than anything, and I would never lie to you.” She slid the cane under Gray’s chin, lifting it slightly. “This young man is more trouble than he’s worth. Should you make a bid, you need to know you’ll be getting a mouthy, rebellious hellion.” With a sharp rap of the cane against his stomach, she ordered Gray to stand up.
He did so on wobbly legs. He’d reached his limit for torture for the moment and didn’t want another bruise to his name.
“If there are no buyers on this animal,” Red continued, “I’ll offer him up as a treat for anyone and everyone—provided that you don’t take him to your staterooms. He’ll be available here in the central den throughout our journey.” She paused. “Now. Let’s see if there are any takers first. Starting at two hundred thousand, this wild boy could be yours. He’s got gorgeous skin that scars nicely, doesn’t he?” She shifted the cane along Gray’s torso, and he swallowed against the vomit that rose. “As you can see on the menu, he is twenty-one years old and built for hot, sadistic grapples. He’s six feet tall, weighs in at one hundred and eighty-nine pounds, and has the temper of an Irishman. If you keep him chained, he could bring you immense pleasure for years.”
Gray steadied his breathing. Aside from a few barely there sounds of rustling and a throat clearing here and there, he wouldn’t know there were people sitting in the booths.
“Lovely abs…” The whisper came from Vanya. Gray had almost forgotten him. Then the psycho kid from hell was tracing the muscles on his lower stomach. “My last toy called them come gutters.” He giggled in delight.
Gray shuddered.
Someone coughed. “Two hundred.” That someone was British and had a meek voice.
“Ah, we have a bidder.” Red sounded both surprised and pleased. “Two hundred—”
“Two-fifty.”
Gray swung his tired gaze to the corner, the first booth there, and tried to see who it was. That man’s voice was like low thunder doused in whiskey.
“Two hundred and seventy-five,” the Brit said impatiently.
“Three hundred.”
“Well, well,” Red purred. “Three hundred for the handsome Mr. B.”
The British man got irritated. “Three hundred and twenty.”
“Three-fifty.”
Silence.
Red ordered Gray to kneel again, and he merely dropped.
There was an insufferable huff coming from the booth where Gray believed the British man sat, but nothing else.
Gray didn’t know what to think. This was his life. His freedom. Yet, two men were bidding on it. It was incomprehensible.
“Going once,” Red said in a teasing tone. After a pause, it was made clear. “Mr. B, the heathen is yours. We hope to enjoy your show.”
Oh fuck. Gray connected the dots. The auction was through, and once his life was no longer his own… It’d happened to the other guys. Eventually, he’d heard most of them scream in terror and agony.
A large man stepped out of the shadows in a swirl of his own cigarette smoke. Gray’s eyes flicked between his briefcase, bespoke suit, and cut jaw. The rest was hazy. He couldn’t focus. A headache was beginning to pull him under, and it was gonna be a big one. Mr. B didn’t speak. Under the low light, his brown hair took on a lighter shade.
A stool appeared, delivered by a goon who quickly backed off. The man who now supposedly owned Gray set his briefcase on the stool and flicked open the lid.
Red and Vanya backed away, too.
Gray had lost all his strength. He remained kneeling on the floor and averted his gaze. This was it.
Mr. B approached and stood before a defeated Gray. There was a grip on his jaw, and Gray was forced to look up. His double vision prevented him from registering anything other than a set of hazel eyes brimming with severity and determination. He swallowed weakly as the man dipped and leaned in close. There was a whisper in Gray’s ear.
“Forgive me.”
A heartbeat later, Gray took a hard blow to the temple that shot his head sideways and knocked him out.
Three
Gray didn’t dare move a single muscle. He’d woken up in a big bed with his hands bound to a hook in the bedpost closest to his head. Someone had reset his shoulder after it was dislocated. Blood and tears stained the pillow, tears that continuously streamed down his cheeks. He hurt everywhere, and that included his ass. The man—this motherfucker they called Mr. B—had knocked him out and raped him.
Said man was in the stateroom right this second, one of the reasons Gray kept quiet and still. He had his back to Mr. B, who sat at the desk that faced the window. There was a mirror on the door to the bathroom that let Gray see what was going on behind him, and he couldn’t look away from Mr. B’s broad back. And the daylight. The tears were oddly soothing, like balm or aloe, and allowed him to stare directly at the blue sky without his eyes burning. Or perhaps his eyes had gotten adjusted to the light again.
He wasn’t ready for the terror to continue. Judging by the number of scars that graced Mr. B’s back, he was into some dangerous shit. If Gray didn’t know better, he’d say the man had been flogged or whipped to the point where his skin had cracked. The long slashes were long since healed but had once been deep cuts. One scar on his shoulder looked like it could be from a gunshot wound.
“There are painkillers here.” The man speaking up sent a jolt of shock through Gray, and he tensed up. “I’m guessing you’re hurting.”
“Fuck you.” Gray’s mouth got the best of him, and he instantly regretted it.
Idiot!
With no sudden movements, Mr. B rose from his chair and rounded the bed. Gray refused to face him, instead waiting for the punishment he’d get for insulting his owner. God, he wanted to die. He no longer saw a way out of this unless it involved a body bag and a tag on his toe.
Mr. B was only wearing a pair of dress pants, and from one of the pockets, he produced a switchblade that he ejected from its sheath.
Gray, having nothing left to lose, kept his stare trained at the mirror, though he could see the man’s movements in his periphery. “Did you bring a knife to a gunfight?”
“I was unaware you had a gun.”
Of course he didn’t have a fucking gun. “Red pointed out to me that maybe a shooter would be interested in me.”
“Red…? Ah, you mean Valerie.” Mr. B walked closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, and Gray fought the urge to scoot back. “Shooters are heroin users. As in, shooting up. In this industry, they’re known for keeping their slaves drugged.”
“Okay.” Gray waited for anger to rise at the use of slaves. Mr. B had said the word casually. Like they were discussing a game or the damn weather. But the anger didn’t hit. Perhaps he really had surrendered and accepted his fate.
Heroin didn’t sound half bad, though, a thought that resonated loudly as Mr. B dragged the sharp point of his blade along Gray’s hip. Bad time to realize he wasn’t wearing anything but a sheet that was riding low.
“Do I have your attention?”
Gray jerked a small nod and closed his eyes.
“Good. Now, look at me.”
&nb
sp; He didn’t want to, but his free will didn’t matter anymore, did it? He squeezed his eyes shut hard, then opened them slowly as two tears rolled down onto the pillow. Next, he slid his wary gaze to the man, seeing him in broad daylight for the first time. He remembered the hazel eyes. They were accompanied by faint crow’s-feet at the corners. A five o’clock-shadow dusted his jaw. His expression was grim, and he looked to be in his early forties.
Gray furrowed his brow, a niggling sensation trying to jog a memory. He had seen this motherfucker before. Back home. He was almost sure of it. He just couldn’t pinpoint when and where. Christ, was this how the slave traders knew who to kidnap? Had this man stalked him, maybe even talked to him, then decided to buy Gray?
“You recognize me,” Mr. B stated.
Gray didn’t reply.
For whatever reason, that made the asshole’s mouth twist up a fraction. Then he stood up and grabbed a chair, dragging it over to sit down by the bed. Elbows resting on his knees, he did absent tricks with the blade and stared at Gray, as if he was thinking of what to say. Gray found himself staring at the knife.
He had no doubt the man could use it well. His stocky, yet sculpted chest bore other scars. One that matched the one on his shoulder, making Gray wonder if the bullet had gone straight through. Under his left pec, chest hair didn’t grow because of a four-inch line that’d been stitched poorly at some point. His other pec was covered in a tattoo that traveled up to his shoulder and across his bicep. Despite being less than five feet away, Gray couldn’t make out the details of the ink.
“I’m gonna have to hurt you if you freak out.” Mr. B kept his voice low and his stare grave. “Can you listen to what I have to say without losing your temper, Gray?”
Gray opened his mouth to mutter a sure, only to snap it shut. He used my name. They probably had his name in his file, but it felt…off. Nobody used his name. His identity didn’t matter to these people.
“There are cameras in this cabin.” Mr. B gave him a pointed look. “There’s no audio, but Valerie and her crew can see everything we do.”